


Misdemeanour

by UnderTheFridge



Category: Power (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate title: ANGELA NO, Bad Decisions, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, F/M, Gen, I suppose?, Implied/Referenced Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheFridge/pseuds/UnderTheFridge
Summary: Angela and Jamie are going through a rough patch, and she's on the rebound......although considering the task force's next assignment, she could have chosen a better partner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tagged for dub-con because while 'Dean' seems like a fairly decent bloke, Milan... isn't. At all.  
> (And let's be honest, Angela probably wouldn't want to tap that if she knew who he really was. Despite the fact that it would fit with her track record.)

He told her to take care of herself - ‘you deserve the best, Ms Valdez’ - and that’s what did it, probably. She can’t really blame the champagne. She can blame Jamie, for giving her a reason to rebound, and herself, for taking it.

“This is probably a bad idea,” she said. Dean hadn’t even managed to ask what was a bad idea, before she kissed him.

He’s a gentleman even now, giving her more than half the duvet as he sleeps. Jamie is smoother of skin and style; Dean is rougher around the edges in appearance and personality. She should stop comparing them, but they are inextricably tied together. She feels she might owe Jamie an explanation for stealing his head of security - but she won’t give it unless he asks. Even then, it’s likely to be an angry one; as if he cares about what she does without him. She stops existing, it seems, the minute he walks out of the door.

Angela closes her eyes and thinks about how nice it would be to sleep easily, to forget for a while and come back round with the sunlight through the blinds. Her phone lights up on the bedside table. She huffs and flips over the pillow, coming close to elbowing Dean in the face. It doesn’t wake him.

Greg told her that it was fatal to have work emails on your phone, no matter your profession. It was back when his ‘suggestions’ didn’t needle at her and his disapproval didn’t feel like he was trying to prove something, so she did it anyway.

It’s 4am, and Interpol have sent through their dossier on the Serbian gangs. For their office, it’s probably a reasonable time of the morning. Not much is provided here - the complete files will have to wait until she’s in the office - but she can always read what there is. Call it being proactive.

She tilts the phone to look at a picture, because something about it seems wrong. There’s something familiar about the face. Another place, another time - another case, perhaps. A recent one. Someone close. Like Lobos, slumped over the table, taunting them with his smile. But closer.

The moment it hits her, she clamps a hand over her own mouth because otherwise she’ll scream - and now she really, absolutely does  _ not _ want to wake him.

The breathless terror subsides after a few seconds, replaced by a wave of panic. Not great, but at least she can move. She slips out of bed and walks - runs - to the bathroom.

The lock clicks and that brings back a little sanity. Once she’s sure that she won’t throw up, she turns around and sits on the toilet. Her phone is still in one trembling hand; she’s shaking all over. She stares at the picture for maybe a minute. In the light of the bathroom, it looks even worse. But she has to go back to bed.

Dean - she must think of him as Dean, to stop the fear piling on again - shifts and mumbles as she returns. She places herself back beside him, the space between them no longer feeling so large. If he touches her, she might actually scream. It’s an indescribable relief when he turns the other way, presenting her with his back.

Angela stares at the ceiling, before the temptation becomes too great and she switches to staring at his shoulder. Dawn can’t come soon enough. She reaches out a hand and turns off her alarm. No disturbances. Nothing that will ruin her advantage of being awake and mobile first. Maybe she can plead work commitments and run. Maybe if he’s in the shower, she can phone them - and then get to the safe, and get a weapon, and hold him there. Wound him, if necessary. They won’t want him dead; too valuable. His clothes are still around the room (thanks to her). If he’s armed, he’ll have trouble getting to it. Her nerve, and her gun, should be enough until the FBI can get a team into the building. They can bust down her door. She won’t mind.

She’s already planning the installation of the new door, deep into thoughts of silver or gold fittings, when the first light begins to creep in. It’s 6am when he sits up.

Angela jumps, hugging the covers to her chest.

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t meant to scare you, it’s a habit. Ex-military. You’re awake?”

“Yeah.” She gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “Who did you serve with?”

She barely listens to his reply, because of course it’s seamless - and it would probably check out, if she investigated, at least well enough to put her off the scent. He looks at her, and she wants a SWAT team in here right this second.

“If you’d like, I could take you out for breakfast.”

“Out. Right.” He’s being a gentleman again, but all she can think is that out is good - in public. With witnesses. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”

He smiles, lop-sided with the scar on the right, and gets up. Angela starts to shake again as soon as he’s out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

She shivers in a hot shower, scrubbing her hands over her face. Acting natural is sapping her energy already. She should call Greg - no, Mike. Someone she can speak Spanish to, because odds are that Dean won’t understand.

What would she say, though? ‘ _ Send backup now, I have a wanted criminal in my apartment. No, it isn’t Ghost. No, he’s not threatening me. He doesn’t suspect anything, in fact - I don’t think he knows who I am, or that I know who he is. How did he get in? Well, it wasn’t a forced entry…. _ ’

“ _ I’m joining a convent _ ,” she says quietly to the shower head, which was left too high up (as if that’s the most inconvenient thing about him being here). “ _ I will devote myself to God and live in poverty, piety and fucking chastity… somewhere in the mountains. _ ”

\--

“And she puts her glass down, like  _ that _ , and - really loudly - ‘I’m drunk enough to pole dance!’. And looks at me, and points like ‘and YOU’RE my pole’....”

Angela laughs, because it  _ is _ funny, picturing Dean subjected to that. Ex-military Dean, probably picked up some injury along the way, went into security because it’s good money and fits his skill set. Nearing middle age and knowing he won’t be strong forever, but preparing to move from active duty to management to retirement in a slow, patient way.

Her laughter still has an edge of hysteria, and she wonders if he picks it up. She takes a sip of strong coffee and says “Did you throw her out?”

“I should have done… but no, I know her.” He shakes his head. “She’s harmless.”

“I don’t imagine she could land a hit on you.”

“No, it’s nothing like that. She always catches me by surprise, that’s all - it’s not dangerous. What, are you suggesting I should get a restraining order?”

He already knows she’s a lawyer, then. Angela forces her brain into gear, and the smiling illusion of Dean dissolves for a minute. Anything he’s learned so far will be through Jamie. Anything she hasn’t told Jamie - or Tasha - will be from an informant, or his own investigations. If he shows any sign of looking into her background, even under the guise of security, she’s in deeper than she first thought.

“I couldn’t say,” she says lightly. “I’m not that kind of lawyer.”

“Mr St-Patrick said you worked for the government.”

“I do. It’s really not very interesting….”

“Regional or federal? I’m sorry, I don’t know much about law.”

“Ah, federal.” If she lies now, it could come back later. Dean might understand a brush-off, but if he ever drops the persona…. “I’m a federal prosecutor.”

“Wow, high-flyer.” His eyes light up; the reaction is genuine. “Mr St-Patrick didn’t tell me that.”

“He… doesn’t quite know. I mean, we haven’t got around to….”

“Don’t worry, Ms Valdez. I won’t give away your secrets.”

“Angela, please. No, it’s not like that. But I suppose… it’s been a long time since high school. I was worried he wouldn’t trust me if he knew straight away, because… you know Jamie. There’s some things in his background he wouldn’t want me poking around in.”

“Surely that’s all in the past? Whatever he used to do, he has a legitimate business now.”

“Well, I’m a lawyer.” She tries to summon up a smile, and is relieved when it works. “Precedent is important.”

He agrees, and returns to his food. She notices for the first time that his back is to a wall. He can see the entire place without even turning his head.

“I guess I wanted Jamie to get to know me first, before my career. That’s all.”

“I understand. And I suppose - correct me if I’m wrong - if your work ever happened to involve him, in any way, you’d get put off the case. Or, something. Right?”

“Right.” It sounds so simple, put like that.

“But, I don’t know what it is you do, so….”

“Uh-huh. I’m afraid I can’t talk too much about it.”

“Ok. High-profile? Or… dangerous?”

“Kind of both,” she says, in a way that doesn’t invite any more questions.

“So you’re not going after guys with... parking tickets in multiple states?”

“Not exactly.” She feels the urge to mention something about cans of worms, and Al Capone being busted for tax evasion.

“But Al Capone went down for taxes, right?”

“Right!” She hopes she doesn’t sound strange, but the enthusiasm is to disguise the fact that her hands have started to shake again. She puts her fork down and folds them in her lap. Her stomach rolls slowly.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just - I think I ate too much. And the champagne always catches up with me if I don’t sleep a lot.”

“That’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Not at all, it’s fine.” Apart from regretting every single second of her life since about 4 o’clock this morning, it  _ is _ fine. He’s polite and entertaining, kind even; he’s picking up the tab for breakfast at one of her favourite places; and the sex was fantastic. Probably in her lifetime top 10. Dean would make a great boyfriend, and she squashes that train of thought and looks down at the table, at his hands. He’s wearing a silver ring on his right with a coat of arms, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that that image is probably in the dossier somewhere.

Her spine stiffens. He wears it in front of  _ Jamie _ . She doesn’t know what his plan is, but she can feel something big emerging. The end-game might be spectacular.

“Angela?” He’s noticed her zoning out. “You really must be tired. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?”

Home, where they’ll be alone. She wants to run into the busy New York street and be lost in the crowd forever.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

“Let me drop you off at work.”

She almost refuses that as well, but stops herself in time and picks up her purse, hoping he doesn’t notice her hands clutch white-knuckled on the top.

“That’s good of you, thank you.”

Because she wants to see if he’ll drive right up to a federal building, where surely someone is already in the office, looking right at his portrait in the Interpol files. If he thinks that she suspects nothing, he might do it to maintain the illusion. If he has any suspicions at all, he won’t dare. The public setting will shield her until the moment she’s through the doors.

He does take her to work.

Her smile disappears the moment she gets to the safety of the ladies’ room, and she drops her purse to the floor and groans, trembling: the mounting anxiety of the morning combined with something she’s just realised.

He might know. He might know who she is, and that she might well know who he is, and about Lobos, and about Ghost. But he placed himself within inches of the federal authorities because  _ he doesn’t care. _

Angela staggers into her office, and spends the next half an hour looking up holy orders in convents in remote places who might accept a lapsed Catholic girl with terrible -  _ really  _ terrible - taste in men.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's an alternate ending, because drama.

_ “If you’d like, I could take you out for breakfast.” _

_ “Out. Right.” He’s being a gentleman again, but all she can think is that out is good - in public. With witnesses. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.” _

_ He smiles, lop-sided with the scar on the right, and gets up. Angela starts to shake again as soon as he’s out of the room. _

\--

The shower goes on and she grabs for her phone, forcing her fingers to work. She’s about to ring Greg when she reconsiders - what would she say to him? How infuriating would his response be, before he agreed to help her? She’d have to snap  _ don’t ask  _ and  _ shut up _ at him, and it would cost valuable time.

Mike. He might not be the head of this task force - it’s still being formed, after all - but she trusts him. And she can speak Spanish: Dean probably won’t understand. If he reappears and catches her talking, she can say it was her sister.

She doesn’t have Mike’s number stored, but it’s somewhere - at the bottom of an email, maybe, or in a chat - and she can find it easily, preparing what she’ll tell him.  _ Mike, I need you to send help to my apartment. Don’t ask why, but the man in here is dangerous. I might be at risk, I need armed units and quickly - and quietly. He doesn’t suspect…. _

The phone is snatched out of her hand and she’s suddenly fighting, kicking out on instinct.

“Angela Valdez,” he says, and she doesn’t have to worry about being betrayed by kind, playful Dean, because that’s not Dean’s voice at all. “Federal prosecutor, assigned to the Lobos task force.” He lets her catch a gasping breath and adds, like an afterthought, “if you scream, I can promise you they will never find you.”

She goes still, silent. Trying to think how he might think; how he might approach this.

“You know, I’ve got people expecting me. If I suddenly go missing...”

“You have nothing planned today.” He drags her upright like a rag doll, and she claws at his skin as he leans over the side of the bed to get the weapon from his jacket. It doesn’t seem to bother him, but once he’s armed he says “Stop that,” with a hint of irritation, and she does.  


“What are you, my PA?” But of course she told him - told Dean - all this last night.  _ It’s alright, you can stay over. It’s not like I have to work tomorrow…. _ “It’ll still be noticed.”

“Of course it will. I wonder if this will finally make James call the police.”

The idea of Jamie being so concerned - having law enforcement swarming all over him, for her sake - pricks at her heart. She sags a little.

“If you’re going to kidnap me... can I at least get dressed?”


End file.
